


Lady Lazarus

by Sandoz (Sandoz_Iscariot17)



Category: Runaways
Genre: Action, Angst and Humor, Coffee, F/M, Resurrection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandoz_Iscariot17/pseuds/Sandoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gert's back from the dead but she's not feeling quite like herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Lazarus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mynuet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynuet/gifts).



> Continuity Note: This is an AU that takes place after Whedon's arc and the Secret Invasion event. Runaways was created by Brian K. Vaughan and Adrian Alphona and belongs to Marvel Comics, not me.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gert regrets the cliché as soon as she says it, but there’s no other way to describe the look in Chase’s eyes—like she’s a phantom or a delusion, a mirage that will vanish if he blinks. It’s a little weird.

“Sorry,” he says, lowering his head so the wind whips his hair over his face.

The sun is setting in Malibu, and the orange sky is streaked with red like a child’s painting. Gert was never the kind of girl who admired sunsets—too cheesy, too Hallmark Channel—but when you thought you’d never see one again you can suddenly see the appeal. And having a guy like Chase standing next to her definitely makes the mood romantic. The word “boyfriend” tickles her tongue, unsaid. It doesn’t seem right to use, since she’s still technically his ex. Ex-girlfriend. Ex-person.

Dying in your boyfriend’s arms is the worst kind of breakup.

But here they are together in her parents’ old beach house, salty air blasting their faces while they sneak a few quiet moments out on the deck. She remembers the beach house only vaguely (sunburn, D.H. Lawrence hidden inside _Sweet Valley High _) but it’s cozier than the old Hostel. Old Lace lies only a few feet away, her tail tucked under her body and her eyes fixed on Gert warily, like she’s afraid to let her out of her sight. On the other side of the glass doors Victor is teaching Xavin to play pool (and Gert bets they’re stealing a few uncertain glances at her too). Nico and Karolina are curled up on the enormous leather couches in the TV room, introducing Molly to _Pretty in Pink._ Wherever the new little girl, Klara, is, she’s determined to keep away from Gert. Time travel, mutants, and aliens are one thing, but a regular Lady Lazarus is a bit much for the kid to handle.__

Gert's hand rests on the wooden railing. Chase grips it hard enough for his knuckles to turn white and he’s almost brushing against her body, but something compels them both to shift away. Chase's hair keeps blowing across his forehead and Gert fights the temptation to brush it firmly behind his ear. If this were a comic book or a movie, the sudden resurrection of The Girl would be met by many kisses from The Boy and they'd be in a perpetual state of tearing each other's clothes off, but Gert's been back for a week and their clothes remain very un-torn and very on.

A loud, startling _crack_ breaks their reverie; Gert and Chase whirl around to see the chaos in the game room. Xavin and Victor stand over the smashed, splintered pool table, the colored balls rolling around their feet.

“I said no powers, Xavin!” Victor yells, mouth sparking.

Xavin tosses her hair over her shoulder with one giant rocky hand before saying something in Skrull that probably translates to, “Your father was a vacuum!”

"Um," Chase says, jerking his thumb toward the steps, "Wanna go somewhere else and pretend to be normal teenagers for an hour?"

Gert squeezes his hand and is relieved that they both don’t break into pieces. "Desperately."

*~*~*

Starbucks is packed like a clown car with trendy, pierced teenagers and shell-shocked graduate students balancing their cups and laptops. Chase even struggles to push the door open. Gert hears a snicker behind her and looks to the curb, where a pair of bony-legged hipsters stand and smoke. They both look smug and immaculately groomed, striped scarves draped over their shoulders even though it's frickin' summer. The tall one in tortoiseshell glasses wags his eyebrows at Gert and adjusts the strap of a heavy black shoulder bag. Their eye contact is brief and irritating. Then she and Chase are finally able to wedge themselves inside the coffee shop.

As they stand in line Gert surveys the sweaty, cinnamon-scented scene and asks, "What is this, 'Bring Your Screenplay, Get a Free Frap' Night?"

Chase picks up their caramel macchiato from the counter and dances a small jig to avoid stepping on a woman's foot. "Nah, this is, like, the only open Starbucks within a five mile radius. It's nuts."

Gert lifts an eyebrow. "Really? I'm dead for a few months and suddenly there _isn't_ a Starbucks on every block in California? What’s happened to the world?"

The gallows humor fails; Chase's mouth straightens into a grim line. "There was a monster attack, Gert. This huge red giant with hate-on for hipster hotspots. Most of 'em are now foot-shaped craters. Well, I say monster, but apparently it was really just a guy. A guy who was sad his wife died." He thrusts the cup at Gert; a hot drop spills and lands on her boot. His face is stoic but he can't keep the strain out of his voice. "There's your Wikipedia update."

Gert takes the cup and they find a corner of a couch to sit on. They're pressed together like two awkward kids on a first date: knees banging together, hands fumbling in laps. A copy of the _Daily Bugle_ rests on the glass coffee table; the headline reads, “FANTASTIC FOUR FOILS FIN FANG FOOM.” Weirdly, it’s not the photo of the giant dragon in short pants that catches Gert’s attention. It’s the date. August 17th. It was February when she...when she left. How the hell can it be summer?

(And she thinks about Molly holding her hands and filling her in, her voice an excited, childlike babble: "And we totally beat up the Gibborim and I punched this gross guy called The Punisher and there was this fat man who smelled like chocolate? But that doesn't matter because we went back in time and we met Klara and Nico's staff got all _special_ and the Skulls--sorry Xavin, _Skrulls_ \--attacked New York and we were totally there and we kicked their butts and we thought Xavin would betray us but she didn't and now she and Karolina can't stop making out. Then we came home and found your old house and we fought this guy called The Steel Serpent and Chase and Vic couldn't stop laughing about his name though he was actually really scary and it’s so weird but the X-Men live in San Francisco now? Oh! Captain America died but then he came back to life too! And there's a new Mountain Dew flavor that’s so amazing and _oh my gosh_ I have to tell you about Justin Bieb--")

Gert wonders if this how her parents felt, skipping ahead in time. Like someone pressed the world’s fast forward button when you weren’t looking.

She notices Chase. His lower lip quivers like he’s on the verge of speaking, but nothing comes. The past seven days have been full of silences like these, which no amount of awkward banter has been able to smooth over. There's something unsaid between them, something that happened to him in the months she was gone but neither he nor the other runners will tell her. ("You defeated the Gibborim? How? What happened?" she had asked, but Molly's face went red, the babbling brook of her voice hitting a dam.)

She wonders if there was someone else, and almost wishes there was. Not that she doesn't love him--she's pretty damn sure she does--but if there was some half-regretted hookup with a Prom Queen it would be a sign that he didn't disintegrate after she died.

"You okay?" he asks finally, voice barely audible over some John Mayer-wannabe's acoustic guitar. "I mean, you know. How do you feel?"

( _She gasps for air but it burns--the air is burning her lungs and the light hurts her. There is sound all around her and she realizes the sound is her name, her name is Gert and the voice is Chase. She's breathing and cold and alive and naked on a cement floor. The voice cries out with joy and his arms wrap tightly around her, hard enough to leave bruises on the fresh new skin. This is my body, she realizes. A body with skin and nerves that could feel pleasure and pain—the pain of rebirth.)_

"Yeah. I think so. All the parts seem to be in working order and no scratches on the paint job yet."

Chase's lip twitches but it's not quite a smile. He runs his hands nervously over his jeans and a thick lock of hair falls forward and hides his face. This time Gert doesn’t hesitate to brush it away.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” she says. “You’re older.”

“Yeah, the big One-Eight. I’m a dirty old man.”

She shrugs. “Dirty, maybe…”

Chase laughs. It’s a short, loud snort that makes the girl sitting next to them give them the stink-eye, and it’s the only sound in the world Gert wants to hear. But her own voice is so serious that it surprises her.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Chase blinks, looking confused in that very cute way of his. “For what?”

“For not asking me what everyone else wants to ask. For just asking if I’m okay and not what it was like,” she rolls her eyes and flicks the edge of the coffee cup, “Being dead.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows lift. “Well, I know you’re not the wings and halo type.”

She can’t hide her small smile. “Nope, no harps or hosannas. They had a pretty kickass book club, though.”

Chase’s face breaks into a grin; he opens his mouth to say something but he's cut off by shouts coming from the front of the cafe.

A man's voice barks over the noise of the crowd: "This is a robbery! Everyone reach for the sky!"

Gert's heartbeat accelerates. A man behind her whispers, "They've got a gun!" before she sees it herself. She recognizes the pistol-packing pair instantly: the smokers from the sidewalk. Their scarves are wrapped around the lower halves of their faces, muffling their orders to the panicked barista.  
Chase shoots Gert a questioning glance, and she reads his lips: "Vampires? Aliens? Ninjas?"

 _When did you fight ninjas?_ Gert wants to ask, but instead she shakes her head. "Worse: hipsters."

"Come on, come on!" The tall one in glasses yells at the girl behind the counter. She fumbles with the cash register; something drops and clatters to the ground, fraying his nerves. "I'm not playing around!"

"We've got to do something," Chase murmurs. Gert agrees, but it's only the two of them without a single super power or dinosaur-from-the-future between them. Her mind rapidly scrambles to form a plan of attack but Chase is already on his feet, the sleeve of his jacket slipping through her fingers.

The hipster holding the bag for cash sees him first. "Hey Blondie,” he warns, “This isn’t the beach. Sit your ass down.”

“Hey man, I really like your scarf,” Chase says in a chipper surfer-dude voice as he steps forward. “Where’d you get it?” With a startling lunge, Chase raises his fist and punches the man’s face so hard he sees cartoon stars. “Abercrombie and _Hits_?”

The man in glasses spins around, pointing the barrel of the gun at Chase’s chest. His voice is a deadly snarl. “You _dick_!”

But Chase has already ducked by the time he fires, the bullet hitting a trashcan and causing a minor explosion of mutilated coffee cups. Someone screams at the sound, and the man jerks his head up in the wrong direction. He never sees Gert coming, only feels the hot splash of fresh, black coffee as it splatters on his face and chest.

The gun falls to the floor. Gert lets the empty cup slip from her fingers, getting only the tiniest bit of enjoyment out of the robber’s moans as he writhes on the floor. She nudges the gun gently away with her foot.

“Sorry,” she says grimly. “I guess you wanted two sugars.”

Voices rise in the coffee shop as the startled patrons move forward, gaping at the scene with confusion and awe. Gert and Chase look at each other, take a breathless moment to make sure that they’re both unharmed and whole, and without a word they bolt out the door, outracing the police sirens coming down the hill.

They’re halfway to the beach house when they finally slow down, convinced that no one is in pursuit. Chase rests his back against a mailbox and wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead. The summer heat’s impossible to escape, even after dusk.

“That was amazing,” he says with a puff of breath. “So much for acting like normal teenagers.”

Gert laces their fingers together. He’s beautiful when he’s sweaty and gross. “Normalcy’s overrated.”

They begin to walk, their joined hands swinging between their bodies. “But really, babe,” she says after a few moments, shaking her head and smiling. “Rhyming ‘hits’ with ‘Fitch’?”

Chase chuckles and squeezes her hand a little harder. “Guess I wouldn’t get into that heavenly book club of yours, huh?”

“Well, we can start a new one here. I think my old D. H. Lawrence book is still lying around the house.”

“Oh yeah? What did _he_ write?”

The old Yorkes beach house looms up ahead, the yellow lights in the windows bright and welcoming. _Pretty in Pink_ is over by now, and the game room is probably demolished. It’s a strange world, Gert thinks, one where hipsters rob Starbucks, superheroes fight dragons, and a girl comes back from the dead. Gert never expected to live long, let alone get a second chance at it. She’s getting used to the idea.

She leads Chase into the house.

“ _Women in Love._ ”


End file.
